Location: No longer in a hovel in effluent Damnville, VA Gender:
Posted:
Sep 18, 2023 - 2:21pm
The IRS suspected a fishing boat owner wasn't paying proper wages to his deckhand and sent an agent to investigate him.
IRS AUDITOR: "I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them."
BOAT OWNER: "Well, there's Clarence, my deck hand, he's been with me for 3 years. I pay him $1,000 a week plus free room and board. Then there's the mentally challenged guy. He works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of Bacardi rum and a dozen beers every Saturday night so he can cope with life. He also gets to sleep with my wife occasionally."
IRS AUDITOR: "That's The guy I'm here to talk to, the mentally challenged one."
BOAT OWNER: "That would be me. What would you like to know?"
After numerous rounds of, âWe donât know if Osama is still alive,â Osama himself decided to send Ted Kennedy a letter in his own handwriting to let him know he was still in the game. Kennedy opened the letter which appeared to contain a single line of coded message, 370HSSV-0773H. Kennedy was baffled, so he e-mailed it to John Kerry. Kerry and his aides had no clue either, so they sent it to the FBI. Noone could solve it at the FBI, so it went to the CIA, then to the NSA. With no clue as to its meaning, the FBI finally asked Marine Corps Intelligence for help. Within a few seconds the Marine Corps cabled back with this reply, âTell Kennedy heâs holding the message upside down.â
After numerous rounds of, âWe donât know if Osama is still alive,â Osama himself decided to send Ted Kennedy a letter in his own handwriting to let him know he was still in the game. Kennedy opened the letter which appeared to contain a single line of coded message, 370HSSV-0773H. Kennedy was baffled, so he e-mailed it to John Kerry. Kerry and his aides had no clue either, so they sent it to the FBI. Noone could solve it at the FBI, so it went to the CIA, then to the NSA. With no clue as to its meaning, the FBI finally asked Marine Corps Intelligence for help. Within a few seconds the Marine Corps cabled back with this reply, âTell Kennedy heâs holding the message upside down.â
My wife called out from the bedroom asking, "Do you ever get a shooting pain across your body, like someone has a voodoo doll of you and is stabbing at it?"
I replied, No."
After a short pause she then asked, "How about now?"
My wife called out from the bedroom asking, "Do you ever get a shooting pain across your body, like someone has a voodoo doll of you and is stabbing at it?"
I replied, No."
After a short pause she then asked, "How about now?"
A little boy goes to his dad and asks, âWhat is politics?â The dad says, âWell son, let me try to explain it this way: Iâm the breadwinner of the family, so letâs call me capitalism. Your mother, sheâs the administrator of the money, so weâll call her the government. Weâre here to take care of your needs, so weâll call you the people. The nanny, weâll consider her the working class. And your baby brother, weâll call him the future. Now, think about that and see if that makes sense.â The little boy goes off to bed thinking about what dad had said. Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has soiled his diaper. The little boy goes to his parentsâ room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nannyâs room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed. The next morning, the little boy says to his father, âDad, I think I understand the concept of politics now.â The father says, âGood son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about.â The little boy replies, âWell, while capitalism is screwing the working class, the government is sound asleep, the people are being ignored and the future is in deep shit.â
A little boy goes to his dad and asks, âWhat is politics?â The dad says, âWell son, let me try to explain it this way: Iâm the breadwinner of the family, so letâs call me capitalism. Your mother, sheâs the administrator of the money, so weâll call her the government. Weâre here to take care of your needs, so weâll call you the people. The nanny, weâll consider her the working class. And your baby brother, weâll call him the future. Now, think about that and see if that makes sense.â The little boy goes off to bed thinking about what dad had said. Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has soiled his diaper. The little boy goes to his parentsâ room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nannyâs room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed. The next morning, the little boy says to his father, âDad, I think I understand the concept of politics now.â The father says, âGood son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about.â The little boy replies, âWell, while capitalism is screwing the working class, the government is sound asleep, the people are being ignored and the future is in deep shit.â
We used to have his records at home before he became a bumpkin Graham Kerr. He was originally doing safety lectures at the refinery, and found that they'd listen to him when he did the funny character. Eventually, a legendary stand up. Then, in his old age, a PBS chef.
His albums were mandatory at many a drunken parents' party.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went on a camping trip. After a good meal and a bottle of wine, they laid down for the night, and went to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend. âWatson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.â Watson replied, âI see millions and millions of stars.â âWhat does that tell you?â Watson pondered for a minute. âAstronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies, and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What does it tell you?â Holmes was silent for a minute, then spoke. âIt tells me that someone has stolen our tent.â
Location: No longer in a hovel in effluent Damnville, VA Gender:
Posted:
Jul 29, 2023 - 11:30am
An oldie but a goodie...
Jim Mooney had been retired for a few years when suddenly he received a summons one day from the IRS. Heâs been selected randomly for a tax audit, so he decides it might be wise if he takes his attorney with him.
Unsurprised by the attorneyâs presence, the IRS auditor explains the procedure and then says to Jim, âMr Mooney, we have been reviewing your affairs and it appears that you have an extravagant lifestyle and yet youâre not in full-time employment nor do you have any other obvious sources of income. Youâve explained this by saying that you win money gambling. Well, sir, I have to tell you, the IRS doesnât believe thatâs a credible explanation.â
âWell I am a skilled gambler,â says Jim, âand I can prove it to you if youâre willing to participate in a wager with me.â
The IRS auditor considers this proposition momentarily and then says, âYes, Iâm willing to give that a try, so go ahead.â
Right,â says Jim, âIâll bet you one thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye.â The IRS auditor considers this carefully and decides that itâs impossible.
âOK then Mr Mooney,â he says, âYou have a bet.â
At this point, and to the IRS auditorâs great surprise, Jim removes his glass eye and then bites it. The auditor sits there in stunned silence, Jim then says, âIâll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye.â
Mr Mooney isnât blind, so he canât have another glass eye, thinks the auditor. Thatâs got to be impossible, surely? So, the auditor accepts the bet.
So, Jim removes his dentures and then bites his good eye. The auditor is stunned, once again, as he now realizes heâs lost three grand and Jim has his attorney as a witness. Naturally, the auditor is starting to get a little nervous.
âWant to go again?â asks Jim.. âWhat do you have in mind now?â asks the auditor. Jim smiles and says, âIâll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on this side of your desk and pee into that wastebasket next to your chair, without a single drop going anywhere in between.â
The auditor, realizing now that heâs dealing with a wily old fox, is feeling very cautious. However he thinks carefully about the proposition and he decides thereâs no way this old guy could possibly manage that stunt, so he agrees.
Jim stands in front of the desk, lowers his zipper, and strains mightily but the trajectory of his pee fails to reach the wastebasket and splashes all over the auditorâs desk. The auditor is both ecstatic and relieved. Heâs just turned a major loss into a huge win for him.
However, Jimâs attorney in obvious pain puts his head in his hands face-down on the auditorâs desk.
âWhatâs the matter?â asked the auditor. âWhen my client asked me to attend this audit today,â the attorney responded, âhe bet me twenty-five thousand dollars that he could come in here and pee all over your desk and that youâd be happy about it.â
An old joke, befitting a sense of oneself, often portrayed in public:
Anger Management
When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, donât take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you donât know.
I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call Iâd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying âHello.â
I politely said, âThis is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?â
Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear âGet the right f***ing number!â and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldnât believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robynâs correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.
After hanging up with her, I decided to call the ââwrongââ number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled âYouâre an asshole!â and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word ââassholeââ next to it, and put it in my desk drawer.
Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, Iâd call him up and yell, âYouâ're an asshole!â It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic ââassholeââ calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, âHi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. Iâm calling to see if youâre familiar with our Caller ID Program?â
He yelled âNO!â and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, âThatâs because youâre an asshole!â and hung up.
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking Spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that Iâ'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a âFor Saleâ sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.
A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that Iâd better call the BMW asshole, too.
I said, âIs this the man with the black BMW for sale?â
He said, âYes, it is.â I asked, âCan you tell me where I can see it?â
He said, âYes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax. Itâs a yellow rambler, and the carâs parked right out in front.â
I asked, âWhatâ's your name?â
He said, âMy name is Don Hansen,â
I asked, âWhenâs a good time to catch you, Don?â
He said, âIâ'm home every evening after five.â
I said, âListen, Don, can I tell you something?â
He said, âYes?â
I said, âDon, youâre an asshole!â
Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.
Then I came up with an idea. I called asshole 1.
He said, âHello.â
I said, âYouâre an asshole!â (But I didnâ't hang up.)
He asked, âAre you still there?â
I said, âYeah,â
He screamed, âStop calling me,â
I said, âMake me,â
He asked, âWho are you?â
I said, âMy name is Don Hansen.â
He said, âYeah? Where do you live?â
I said, âAsshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, a yellow rambler, I have a black Beamer parked in front.â
He said, âIâm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.â
I said, âYeah, like Iâ'm really scared, asshole,â and hung up.
Then I called Asshole no. 2.
He said, âHello?â
I said, âHello, asshole,â
He yelled, âIf I ever find out who you areâ¦â
I said, âYouâll what?â
He exclaimed, âIâll kick your ass,â I answered, âWell, asshole, hereââs your chance. Iâ'm coming over right now.â
Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover.
Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd. in Fairfax. I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax. I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.
NOW I feel much better. Anger management really does work!